


Bleeding Love

by robinwritesallthefanfiction



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Language, Romance, Self-Insert, Series, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthefanfiction/pseuds/robinwritesallthefanfiction
Summary: Negan thinks his greatest strength is that he doesn’t feel. When he starts to love again, how will he survive?





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin is caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily based on the song “Way Down We Go” by Kaleo. I suggest listening to it as you read.

_Day 114: December 25, 2010_

**Robin**

His hand is in my hair. 

My head throbs each time he drags me across the concrete floor.

I barely even feel the cold anymore. 

I must be dying. 

But it’s too slow.

Still, I struggle against the belts looped around my ankles and wrists. 

The buckles rip into my skin, but the leather won’t loosen.

I twist back and forth, hoping to tear myself free, but he’s gripping me too hard, and my strength has almost run out.

I screamed as loud as I could on the journey here, through the dirty bandana gag they tied on me, hoping that someone would hear, that someone would help.

No one came.

Now my voice is hoarse. 

I couldn’t scream again no matter how much I tried.

So I press my lips together, determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing me whimper or beg.

Suddenly, he stops, yanking and sending me hurtling into the middle of the room. 

My breath is knocked out of my lungs and I roll painfully onto my back, trying to hide my shaking.

They circle around me, laughing and jeering.

There are too many of them. 

I know that I can’t get away.

Maybe I can at least take one of them with me before the end.

Before they tear me apart. 

Before they take what little I have left and send me down to the dark.

Maybe I deserve it. 

No one left alive in this world is innocent, after all.

He stands at my feet, undoing his pants. 

It’s his belt holding my hands behind my back.

He grabs himself, stroking as he chuckles cruelly.

“Bitch, you’re gonna love this.”

It takes all my willpower to remain silent.

“Get her pants off and her legs apart and hold her down. I don’t want this tramp kicking me in the face while I’m getting off.”

Suddenly, there are more hands than I can count pressed roughly against my body, and I buck weakly, trying to shake them off. 

I don’t succeed.

The belt around my ankles is unwound. 

The hands yank my jeans down over my thighs.

My shoes and socks are already gone. 

They took them so I wouldn’t run.

I still tried.

I squeeze my legs together as tightly as I can.

It may be inevitable, but I’m not going to make it easy.

“Open up, whore.”

My panties tear as a hand gropes between my legs, and I thrash frantically.

But they’ve run me down to my core, and I’m caught.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin shows Negan what she’s made of.

_Day 114: December 25, 2010_

**Robin**

The world erupts into chaos.

Tires screeching.

Bright white light.

“Fuck!”

Running footsteps. 

Less hands pressing me into the floor.

“Assholes! Get back here! We can take these idiots!” A door bangs open and shut. “Good riddance. We don’t need them anyway.”

I heave myself onto my side so I can spit out blood. Half of it gets caught in my gag and I choke briefly.

The front door is kicked open.

The man who enters is just a silhouette. He’s tall, lean, and carrying a baseball bat against his shoulder. He strides purposefully into the room, and his deep, gravelly voice booms across the open expanse.

“Fucking take your fucking hands off of her right fucking now, you piece of trash motherfuckers!” He’s angrier than I’ve ever heard anyone sound, and the base of my skull tingles.

Should I fear this man more than the ones who took me?

Even as the question unfurls in my mind, I know the answer.

No.

I don’t fear him at all. I don’t know who he is, I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t know what he’s going to want from me once this is all over, but I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life.

His rage is righteous.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” The answering voice falters and I open my eyes to see men pouring through the door behind my mysterious rescuer. All of them are carrying weapons. Tire irons, crowbars, guns. One even has a chainsaw. Within seconds, they’ve circled the entire room. There is no escape.

“Me and my motherfucking army, nuts for brains,” the leader growls menacingly, pulling my gaze back to him. I rest my cheek wearily on the floor, the taste of copper in my mouth.

I could shut my eyes, block it all out, but I follow every movement he makes instead, watching as he swings the bat downward. I can hear the whoosh as it splits the air, and then he brings it back up, getting right in my attacker’s face and pressing the bat against his crotch. I realize that the bat is partially wrapped in barbed wire.

There’s no fire in my attacker’s next taunt. “I’m not some dickless cunt you can just push around.” His whisper is tainted with more than a hint of fear.

I’m glad.

The leader laughs heartily, twisting the bat, and my attacker lets out a high-pitched scream. I try to lift my head off of the floor. I don’t want to miss a moment of this.

“You may not be fucking dickless yet, you motherfucking waste of space,” the man with the bat drawls, “but you fucking will be when Lucille and I are fucking through with you.” His words are low and full of vengeance; there’s no doubt that he’s controlling this situation.

He withdraws the bat and turns around, raising his voice to give an order. “Line these fuckers up!” he roars. “No one fucking touches them until I’m fucking ready!”

Only then do I shut my eyes, listening to the sounds of my assailants being dragged away. 

I’m relieved. 

I’m safe.

I feel him kneel beside me and bend down, and I force my eyes to flicker open. He looms over me, but in a way that’s protective, not intimidating.

He leans into the light so I can see his face, setting the bat on the floor beside him and then tugging on the middle finger of his leather glove with his teeth so he can pull it off. I look up at him and he holds my gaze, reassuring me. His eyes are hazel; right now, they’re almost golden because of the light pouring in through the tall glass windows, and they’re filled with concern. Warmth floods me for the first time in days.

“Is it okay if I touch you, honey?” he asks. “If you don’t want me to, I understand.”

I take as deep of a breath as I can through my gag and wince as my body seizes up, but I manage to answer him. “It’s okay,” I assure him carefully, concentrating on pronouncing each word and nodding so he understands.

He reaches into my hair and unties my gag, pulling my chin down gently so he can free the dirty piece of fabric clenched between my lips, looking at the blood splattered across it. His body tenses, his shoulders rising, and he sets his jaw tightly, running his free hand through his dark brown hair and then over his neatly trimmed beard, which is streaked through with silver and gray. 

He throws the gag across the room, reaching up and untying the red scarf twined around his neck. He gently cups my cheek in his hand, turning my head to the side and wiping the blood from my mouth with it. It’s soft against my lips, and I take a real deep breath this time.

“Thank you,” I whisper, a small shudder running through me as my weight shifts to my shoulder. My hands are still bound behind me. He balls the scarf up and slips it into his jacket pocket before leaning over to undo the belt holding my wrists together. When they’re free, I sag onto the floor on my back and a pained noise escapes my throat.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart, though it’s mighty nice of you to do so,” he answers, his voice low and husky. I try to lift my arms so I can rub my wrists, but they feel too heavy, so I leave them at my sides instead. I watch as he unzips his leather jacket and shrugs it off. He holds it in one hand, sliding the other underneath me until he’s cupping my neck, his strong arm supporting my back.

“I’m afraid this is going to hurt, darlin’,” he says tersely.

I suck in my breath as he lifts me.

I bite my lip and cry out, trying to make the sound as small as I can, looking up at him apologetically. His eyebrows are knit together as he drapes his jacket gently over my shoulders. “Let’s cover you up.” He moves his hands and slips each of my arms into the sleeves of the jacket before zipping it up. I lift myself so the leather slides down over my hips. The jacket is far too big for me; my hands are hidden in the sleeves and the waist finally stops halfway down my thighs. 

I shiver and cross my arms over my chest. The leather is still saturated with his body heat, and it smells like sweat and sharp metal and just a hint of blood. He cups his hand around the back of my neck again to steady me; his palm is rough, but not unpleasantly so. “Honey, you’re shaking like a leaf in a high wind,” he comments softly, and I realize that he’s right. Even with the jacket wrapped tightly around me, I can’t make myself stop. I open my mouth and try to respond, but my teeth just chatter instead.

“Come here,” he urges, gingerly lifting me into his arms as he stands. I grip a handful of his shirt in one hand, trying to calm my shaking, tucking my head into the space between his shoulder and his neck. He’s blazing hot against my worn, freezing body, and I curl into him. He drops his head as he slowly walks to the door, his nose resting against my cheek.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. I promise.”

I believe him. The soft hum of his voice soothes the last remnants of fear in me, and I can finally speak.

“Who are you?” I wonder.

“Where are my manners?” he chides himself, shaking his head. “I’m Negan, darlin’. What’s your name?”

I have to lick my lips before I can answer. “Robin,” I respond, my voice a little stronger now. I can feel him smile against my cheek.

“Well, Robin, that’s a beautiful name. I’m sorry if I offended you with my endearments.”

I blush as much as I can, considering the state I’m in. I’ve always hated my name. I tip my head up to look at him. “You didn’t offend me,” I reveal quietly, and he gives me a gorgeous, satisfied smile.

“Good.” He gestures around the room with his head. “These are The Saviors. We have a base nearby. I’d like you to come back with us.”

I laugh a little against his warm skin. “Only a fool would say no to that offer.”

“And you’re not a fool?” he questions teasingly.

I can feel my face cloud over for a moment as I remember the past few months. “I try not to be,” I confess heavily. He cradles me tightly to his chest and his face darkens. His eyes are distressed. I wriggle my hand through the cuff of his jacket and reach up to touch his cheek, my body protesting at the movement. He breathes in sharply, upset. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb and murmur, “Don’t worry. It’s all right.” He looks at me curiously, the lines around his eyes crinkling.

We reach the door. There’s a pile of wooden pallets next to it, and he sets me down there very carefully. He holds onto my shoulders until he’s sure I’m steady, and then brushes my tangled hair over my ear gently before sitting down next to me. He puts one arm around me, cupping my jaw delicately in his other hand so he can tilt my head toward him.

“Robin, I know you’re hurting right now. I’m going to take care of you, I swear.” His face becomes grave. “But first I need you to tell me what they did to you, all right? I know it’s going to be hard, but it’s important.” I feel him tense again, but he controls it, making sure his hands don’t tighten on my face, which I can feel is starting to bruise. “They are never going to hurt you again,” he vows through clenched teeth, his voice fierce. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

I shut my eyes to gather my thoughts, slipping my hand back inside his jacket and leaning into him for warmth. He waits patiently, his fingers moving gently against my jaw. For a moment, I’m overwhelmed. I’ve never been touched so gently before, and after the past few months, I never thought I would be. I breathe deeply, calming myself, and finally begin to speak.

“I was part of a group, but it fell apart,” I start, my voice small and quiet out of necessity. My throat is dry and it aches. “I had to leave. I ran into… them… in the forest.” My head twitches in their direction and I flinch. I can’t look at them. Not if he wants the rest of the story.

“You don’t have to look at them,” he soothes me. “Just look at me, sweetheart.” I shiver, nodding, and he pulls me closer.

“Thank you.” His large hand moves to more fully cup my cheek, blocking my potential view of the other side of the warehouse. I notice that his fingers are unusually long.

“Don’t mention it, honey. Go ahead. Tell me the rest.”

“They call themselves The Claimers,” I spit out, my chest tightening, my voice twisting with disgust and rage. “They wander from place to place, claiming anything that they want, including people.” Negan’s eyes darken and his lip twitches in anger, but he doesn’t say anything.

“They… claimed me.” A sob escapes me against my will, and tears begin to stream down my cheeks. Dammit. I don’t like to cry, but I’m too fragile. I’m cold and hungry and alone, and if he hadn’t found me, I’d be dead.

Maybe worse than dead. Maybe they wouldn’t have put me down completely.

“I tried so hard,” I gasp desperately. “I tried to hide, but they saw me. I tried to run, but there were too many of them. I fought and I screamed, but I couldn’t get away.” I take a shaky breath, turning my face and hiding it in his palm. “I couldn’t protect myself,” I sob, and I feel his lips press gently against my forehead in response. “The one thing I’m supposed to be able to do in this fucked up new world is protect myself, and I couldn’t!” And then he’s pulling me to him and I’m weeping against his strong, solid chest. My hands slip out of his sleeves so that I can hold onto him tightly.

“Hey now, darlin’,” Negan soothes me. “It’s okay. No one expects you to be able to fight that many men by yourself. You did everything you could.”

“It’s not okay!” I protest. It’s getting harder to breathe. “It’s not okay!” I pound my fist into his chest; he doesn’t try to stop me. “I’m not weak!” I insist, though my entire body is filled with pain. “I’ve been the strongest person this whole time and it’s not fair! I’m not weak! I’m not!” I stop pounding, slumping against him, feeling entirely defeated as everything else pours from my lips. “They took my shoes and socks so I wouldn’t run. Threw them into the woods. I still tried. But they grabbed me, they hit me, they tied my hands and feet. They dragged me here by my hair. And they said they would… they said they would…” My chest heaves as I’m filled with fury. I push away from Negan and stand up, stumbling as I turn around to look at the men on their knees on the opposite side of the warehouse.

“They said they would rape me until I was dead!” I scream, surprised that I even can. I’m halfway across the warehouse before I feel Negan’s arms curl around my waist. He pulls me back, lifting me off of the floor. My head falls onto his shoulder and I scream in anguish again. “I thought I deserved it,” I cry softly into his neck. “They were dragging me across the floor and I thought maybe I deserved it. I’ve done bad things, Negan, so many bad things, and I thought I deserved it!”

He holds me tightly, trying not to hurt me. I can feel his heart pounding against my back, and I go limp. He turns his head so he can speak into my ear, and his voice is rough. Anger rolls off of him in waves. “That’s enough!” he commands. “Enough! You did not deserve this, Robin. Absolutely fucking not! But they deserve to pay for what they did, so I am going to punish the fucking fuck out of these fucking motherfuckers.” He turns me, pressing my face firmly against his warm, muscled chest, and I fling my arms around him, finding solace there.

“I will not stand for this fucking shit they’re doing,” he continues softly. “And it’s going to be a little scary once I get started. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to see it. Simon can take you outside while I work these fuckers over. Or you can stay and watch. It’s up to you, but I need to know now, because once I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I want to watch,” I confirm without hesitation, my voice finally calm. I pull away, looking up at his face so he sees that I’m serious.

Negan smiles darkly. “Good girl,” he mutters. “Wait here.” I watch as he walks over to where he left his bat and glove. The way he moves is lithe, graceful, almost lazy, but he’s tense, all of his muscles coiled as if he’s ready to strike. He pushes his long-sleeved cream-colored shirt halfway up his toned forearms before he bends over and picks up the glove, tugging it back onto his hand. Then he bends down again to pick up the bat. He twists his wrist, swinging it in a smooth arc. My heart jumps in my chest as I wonder exactly what he’s going to do.

He’s the picture of wrath as he stalks across the room to the men on their knees. His shoulders are knotted together under the tight fabric of his shirt, and when he reaches the line-up, he stops in front of the man who’d been standing at my feet. He looks at each of the men in turn before he speaks, and his voice is careful, measured, despite the seething ferocity I can see rippling underneath his skin.

“Fucking pay attention to what I do next,” he snarls, “because it’s what’s about to fucking happen to all of you.”

“Eat shit, pig,” his quarry spits back. Negan makes a sucking sound against his teeth and chuckles like he’s amused.

Then he rears back so he can kick the asshole in the jaw with a sickening pop. The man falls back, and the others try to scramble out of the way, but Negan’s brutal voice halts them in their tracks. “Fucking stay where you are fucking are!” he howls, leaving his victim spread out on the ground.

He turns his head and looks at me over his shoulder. His brow furrows as he thinks for a minute, and then he slides his hand down the shaft of the bat until he’s gripping it just above the barbed wire so he can hold the handle out to me. “Would you like the first hit, Robin?”

Every hair on my body stands on end.

Does he want me to say yes?

What will he think of me if I do? 

But I want it so badly that I can taste death in the back of my throat.

So I lick my lips and nod. “Yes.” I reach out, gripping the handle of the bat firmly before turning my attention to the man on the ground.

I heft the bat; it’s heavier than I thought it would be. Negan comes up behind me, sliding his hand over the small of my back. “Just lift her and bring her down as hard as you can,” he instructs. I look at him curiously.

“Her?”

“Lucille.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a smile as he gazes at her. He curls his fingers over mine where they’re wrapped around her. “She is awesome. And she likes drinking blood.” He lifts his chin to point at the man on the floor in front of me. “Go ahead, Robin. Aim for his head.”

I take a few steps until I’m hovering over my attacker. Now he’s my victim. “Justice,” I mumble. Holding Lucille makes me feel invincible, and I like it. 

I raise her over my head and bring her down right on my attacker’s crotch. He shrieks in pain, and even though I’ve killed people since all of this began, I can honestly say that I have never heard a sound like that before.

“Oops,” I sneer viciously. “I fucking missed.”

Even though Negan only promised me the first hit, I can’t help myself. I raise Lucille above my head over and over again. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s on fire, but the blood that’s seeping across the concrete spurs me on.

Then Negan, his face barely composed, his eyes glittering with shocked admiration, grabs the man by his shirt collar, dragging him back and away from me. I stop, looking at him, breathing hard, Lucille dangling from my hand, blood dripping from her barbed wire onto my foot. Negan holds his hand out for her. “You’re going to hurt yourself, sweetheart.” His voice shakes a little. “Let me finish the job.”

I nod slowly, handing her to him and stepping back to give him room to work, my body vibrating with energy. It’s Negan’s turn to raise Lucille and bring her down hard on the man’s face. “You.” Crack! “Don’t.” Crack! “Fucking.” Crack! “Treat.” Crack! “Women.” Crack! “Like.” Crack! “That.” He barely raises his voice between each hit, but his words are powerful and clear. 

The cracking stops when the man’s head is reduced to mush. Negan flings Lucille at the remaining men in an arc, and the blood on her splatters all over them. 

I can’t look away from him. He makes me breathless in every possible way, and I know that as long as I’m with him, no harm will ever come to me.

“Beat them all to fucking death just the way I fucking beat this fucker.” Screams erupt behind him as he turns, holding Lucille pointed downward at his side. Blood trails from her onto the floor as he walks back over to me.

“Some of them ran when you arrived,” I remember suddenly. “I’m not sure how many. I forgot to tell you. They went that way.” I point and Negan nods, glancing around, motioning with his head when he finds who he’s looking for.

“Simon, take a search party and see if you can find the ones who got away.”

“You got it, boss.” Simon whistles. “Follow me!” A portion of the army splits off and follows him out the door.

Once they’re gone, I reach out and grip Negan’s arm to steady myself. “I’m sorry if I got carried away,” I apologize, my voice breathy. My head is starting to spin. “You said the first hit.”

Negan chuckles, bringing his hand up to my face and brushing his thumb over my lower lip so slowly that it’s agonizing.

It feels like worship.

“Oh, Robin,” he purrs, stepping closer and leaning down to press his forehead gently to mine, “you were absolutely magnificent.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin tells Negan her story.

_Day 114: December 25, 2010_

**Robin**

I stand in front of Negan, my forehead still pressed against his, breathing hard. I start to shake again, tightening my grip on his arm.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I manage to gasp.

He moves quickly. “Arms around my neck, sweetheart,” he orders, and I obey immediately. He pulls me against his body, lifting me off of the ground easily with one taut arm. I cling to him, hiding my face in his shirt. Right now, he’s my lifeline, so I try to tune out everything around me and concentrate only on him.

Unfortunately, it only makes me more aware of the pain. Every part of my body hurts; I can’t even begin to tell how badly I could be injured. Tears well up in my eyes and I make a strangled sound deep in my throat. Negan’s arm tightens around me. “Hang on, honey,” he says quietly, and I nod.

As he carries me; everything happening around us becomes a low buzzing hum in my ears. I know that he’s speaking, but I don’t listen to what he’s saying. I know that we’re moving, but I don’t bother to look and see where we’re going. It’s only when I feel him set me down and my shaking intensifies that I come back to myself.

As I gasp in agony, Negan brings his large, warm hands up to frame my face. “Tell me where it hurts, Robin,” he urges. I open my eyes to look at him; his voice is calm, but his face is distressed.

“Everywhere.” It’s all I can manage. I don’t even know what I need anymore. The darkness of the past few days is swallowing me up.

“Okay,” he answers, letting go of me reluctantly and turning to the drawers and shelves beside him. “We’ll be back at The Sanctuary late tomorrow morning; there’s a nurse there who can help you. For now, I’ll do what I can, all right?”

I nod, watching him collect a first aid kit, a bottle of water, a shallow metal bowl, a washcloth, and a small garbage bag before he returns to me. “What’s The Sanctuary?” I ask, hoping to distract myself. He seems to understand what I’m trying to do.

“It’s the base I told you about,” he replies, tugging his leather glove, which is flecked with blood, off and dropping it into the trash bag. “We have a permanent community there. It’s still fairly new, but things are going well so far. We fan out from there to scout. We look for resources, people, anything we can find that might be useful.” He pours the bottle of water into the bowl and mixes in some soap from the first aid kit. Then his hands move to the zipper of his jacket, which is still wrapped around me.

“Can I take this off, darlin’?” he requests. I nod again and he slowly pulls the zipper down, pushing the leather away from my shoulders and down my arms. He lifts me gently so that he can get the jacket out from underneath my body. I wince and his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, letting me go and laying the jacket in the trash bag.

I reach out, curling my fingers around his bicep. He covers my hand with his, looking at me very seriously. “It’s not your fault that I’m hurt, Negan. You’re the reason I’m still here.” He doesn’t look entirely convinced as his eyes take in my battered body.

“I should have stopped them sooner.” His voice is a mixture of seething rage and guilt, and I put my other hand in his hair, stroking it soothingly.

“You saved me before anything could happen,” I remind him. “I can’t thank you enough.”

His face is conflicted. “Enough happened.” His eyes darken. “Those fuckers deserved far worse than I gave them, but I couldn’t risk having them around you any longer.” He reaches down, lifting my foot in his hand. I can feel the scrapes on the sole, and when he squeezes the washcloth out before gently running it over my skin, I see traces of blood on the white fabric. Some of it is the blood that dripped off of Lucille and onto me, but I’m fairly certain not all of it is, judging by how much Negan’s gentle movements hurt.

He cleans my other foot; I see more blood. When he raises his eyes to mine, I can tell that he’s angry again. My hand is still in his hair, and I continue to massage his scalp gently, squeezing his arm reassuringly.

He grimaces at me, biting his lower lip hard. “Your feet are scraped up because you tried to run even after they took your shoes,” he remembers matter-of-factly. He has an enormous amount of self-control, and for some reason, it makes me break.

“I tried everything, but it didn’t do any good. They still caught me.” By the end of the last sentence, I’m crying, and I draw my hands back to bury my face in them. Then he’s there beside me, cradling me against his chest and whispering softly into my ear.

“I’m so sorry, Robin,” he apologizes fervently. “I should have gotten here faster.” I start to protest again, but he shushes me. “You fought, honey.” His voice is full of pride. “That matters. It’s admirable.”

I shake my head, bringing my hands down and twisting them together in my lap. “Fighting doesn’t mean anything if you don’t win,” I disagree. “Not anymore. If you don’t win, you die.”

He puts one large hand over both of mine and brushes his lips over my temple. “It matters to me.”

The past few months have taught me to be cautious, but all my patience has run out, so I ask the question that lingers on my lips. “Why?”

He chuckles against my skin before pulling away and kneeling down in front of me once more. He picks the washcloth back up and starts to clean my calves. There are a lot of bruises and scrapes down my legs. Negan frowns and shakes his head before patting my legs dry; then he smears antiseptic cream on the bottom of my feet and wraps them in bandages. “It’s just not fucking right,” he growls.

His long fingers hook behind my knees so he can draw me forward and glide his rough palms over my thighs. My breath hitches in my throat; his touch makes me tremble, and my skin is prickling into goosebumps wherever he firmly and gently grips me. When I look back down at him, his hazel eyes are relaxed and warm. “You okay up there?” he asks softly. I nod.

“It’s nice to be touched like this,” I admit, blushing deeply. It feels wrong to think that at a time like this, but it’s been so long. I barely got touched even before everything began, though I’ve always craved it. 

And he’s the first man I haven’t been afraid of since this all started. The first one who hasn’t tried to take advantage of me in some way.

He lets his hands linger on my legs. He doesn’t move them; he just holds me. I put my hands in his hair again. It’s soft, and I like the way it feels beneath my fingers. 

He makes a satisfied sound deep in his throat; his voice is husky when he speaks. “It matters to me because someone who fights that hard to survive obviously still believes that this world is worth saving,” he reveals. “I need people like that with me.”

It’s a good answer, and one that I respect immensely. “What’s the point of fighting if the goal is just to fade away?” I wonder sincerely. “We may never be able to restore what we had, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can make it better.”

Negan beams up at me. “That’s my girl,” he purrs. His hands make their way to the tops of my thighs; he stops when he realizes that I’m naked from the waist down. His eyes are suddenly hard again, and I slide one of my hands down to his cheek.

“You stopped them before…” I trail off, my voice soft and breathless. I compose myself and continue. “They ripped them off right before you came inside,” I clarify. “I’m still…” I bite my lip in embarrassment. “I’m fine,” I finish. He lets my almost admission go for a moment while he stands up.

“Can you stand for me, sweetheart?” I push myself up off what I now realize is a bed and finally look around.

“Where are we?” I notice that we’re moving.

“Camper attached to the back of a truck.” He leans over my shoulder to look at my back. “Your shirt’s all ripped up, honey. Can I take it off?” I nod and he begins to slowly undo my buttons, revealing more bruises. The ones on my arms are the worst. He notices too, and he’s as gentle as possible as he slips the shirt off and adds it to the garbage bag. My bra is too small for me, and the straps are ruined. He hesitates, so I reach behind my back to undo the clasp. Negan helps me slide it down my shoulders. I slip my hands over my naked breasts as he discards the bra.

“You would have frozen out there,” he murmurs. “You’re not wearing nearly enough clothes.” He has the washcloth in his hand again; he strokes it gently over my thighs, then over my buttocks and between my legs. He puts his arm loosely around my shoulders as a shudder runs through me, making sure I stay upright. “You’re still a virgin?” His voice is soft.

I rest my face against his shirt. “Yes.” It’s such a silly thing to be concerned about now, but I’m still self-conscious.

His voice is once again laced with rage. “Those men would have taken your virginity.”

I carefully remove my hands from my breasts and put them on his face. They’re trembling, and his arm squeezes me tighter. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I feel like everything I say makes you upset.” He immediately shakes his head.

“You know I’m not upset with you. I just wish I could beat the fucking shit out of those fucking degenerates again.” He calms back down, running the washcloth over my stomach and breasts lightly; they’ve suffered the least damage from my ordeal, but I still tense up. I’m thinner and more toned than I used to be, but I’m still insecure. It’s hard to let go of decades of instinct.

Negan rubs my shoulder soothingly; I don’t think he realizes that I’m worried about my body, so his next words catch me off guard. “Doing that to a sweet, pretty little thing like you…” he trails off. “The thought of it makes my blood fucking boil, is all.”

“Sweet?” I chuckle. “You just watched me help beat a man to death.”

Negan is completely serious when he replies. “You don’t owe anyone anything they haven’t earned. He earned what we did to him, Robin.” I nod in agreement and he briefly presses his lips to my forehead. “Turn around for me, honey. Let me take care of your back and then you can sit down again while I deal with your arms and face.”

I turn obediently, listening to him breathe in sharply. I bite my lip, wincing as he runs the wet fabric over me as softly as he possibly can. “Dammit, Robin,” he mutters; I can tell that his teeth are clenched.

“How bad is it? They dragged me for a while.”

He considers his answer carefully. “I think it’s worse than it looks,” he admits. “But I still don’t like it.” I hang my head, trying to stretch out my neck as he smears more antiseptic cream over my back and covers it in large, square bandages. When he’s finished, he reaches up, covering my neck with a large hand and massaging it firmly until it pops. I sigh in relief.

“Thank you.” He turns me again, encouraging me to sit. It does feel better to be off of my feet. He turns his attention to my arms. They’re more bruised than scraped, at least, with the exception of my wrists. The belt did a number on me, especially since I struggled so much.

As Negan runs the washcloth up and down each of my arms, he looks at me worriedly. “These are all from them, right?” I nod again.

“No bites or scratches,” I assure him. “The dead aren’t a problem for me anymore. They haven’t been for a long time.”

“Clever woman,” he observes lightly. He’s careful when he starts to put the cream on my wrists; I squeeze my eyes shut briefly. “I’m sorry, Robin. I know it hurts. Miriam will be able to do a better job when we’re back at The Sanctuary.”

“It’s all right,” I comfort him. “It’s not that bad.” I pause as he starts to wrap bandages around my wrists. “I’m going to look like a mummy,” I laugh. He grins at the comment.

“Sexy mummy,” he quips back. “Like all those dumb as shit Halloween costumes.” I laugh harder; it hurts a little, but it feels good. He laughs harder too, stopping his wrapping for a moment to just hold my hand until we both calm down.

“Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”

“Always happy to oblige, darlin’,” he replies softly, starting to wrap my wrist again. The pain is worse when I’m not distracted by something else; once again, he notices. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How did this nightmare start for you?”

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, thinking back to the end of August. Was it really only four months ago? It seems so much longer than that.

“I was in graduate school at Georgetown,” I start. “It was almost time for the new semester to start. I’d been having a difficult time, to be honest. I was thinking about leaving. I wasn’t sure that it was what I wanted anymore.” Negan doesn’t respond; he just listens, which is nice. Most people don’t take the time to listen now. Of course, most people didn’t take the time before either.

“I was working in one of the campus offices. I’d stayed late to help my boss, Dennis. It was just the two of us. He had a heart attack. I called 911, but he died long before they could arrive. I was already pretty shocked; I’d never seen someone die before. And then he… came back.” I can tell by the look in Negan’s eyes that he understands what I must have gone through. I’m tempted to ask what happened to him, but I’m not sure I’ve earned that right yet.

His hands move to my other wrist and I continue. “I reacted quickly, actually. Afterward, I was surprised. I, uh, wrenched the blade off the paper cutter and cut his head off with it. Hurt my shoulder a little in the process. The ambulance never showed, so eventually I made my way home and decided to get out of the city before things got worse. I threw anything that might be useful in my backpack and left on foot.”

“No car?” he interjects. I shake my head.

“Didn’t have one. Didn’t need it. I lived close to campus, and there was lots of public transportation. Turned out to be a good thing, anyway. I never would have made it as far as fast as I did with a car. All the roads were clogged.”

He nods. “I remember.” I hesitate, wondering if he’s going to say more. Instead, he just asks, “What happened next?”

“I had a map. I decided to walk to Coral Hills. It was outside the city, but still fairly close. I thought maybe the military would be there or something.” I laugh briefly. It’s hard to remember a time when we all thought we were actually going to be rescued. “I ran into some people on the way. Jensen, Samantha, and Bradley. I wasn’t sure about them, to be honest. I’ve always read people pretty well, but I was scared. And it was still early. It hadn’t gone on long enough yet for me to figure out that it’s the living that are the problem, not the dead.”

I stop talking as Negan finishes wrapping my opposite wrist. “Thank you. That feels a lot better already.” Before he stands up, he slips his boots off and sets them in the garbage bag. They’re flecked with blood just like his glove was. Then he sits next to me on the bed, stretching one leg out behind me as he gets close, his thigh touching mine as his fingers start to probe my neck and hair. I wince as he finds several tender spots.

“They dragged you by your hair?” he clarifies tightly. I nod, impressed that he seems to remember everything I already told him. He gets up for a moment, opening a drawer and retrieving a comb. He dips it into the water and carefully starts to work it through the tangles. “You’ll be able to take a shower and really get this cleaned up at The Sanctuary,” he mentions.

“You have showers?” I’m clearly surprised, and he chuckles.

“Yes, we do, sweetheart.”

“A shower would be nice. What is your place, anyway? Paradise?” I joke. He chuckles again.

“I’d like it to be,” he declares sincerely. He’s silent for a moment. “Tell me more,” he requests, still untangling my hair. “Did you make it to Coral Hills?”

“We did, but it was overrun,” I respond. “Jensen died on the way. Killed by the dead. We scavenged for supplies and then pressed on to Forestville. It was smaller and farther away, so we thought it might be better there.” I pause, not particularly wanting to relive what happened next.

Negan finds the hair tie tangled up in my hair and plucks it free gently. He gets the comb wet again and starts to arrange my hair carefully. I’m surprised when he deftly starts to braid it. “You braid hair?” I tease. I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s certainly old enough to have children. Maybe he has a daughter.

Or had a daughter. I bite my lip, saddened by the possibility.

He huffs playfully. “It’s hair, not rocket science.” He doesn’t explain further.

I can respect that. I continue my story for him instead.

“Bradley… wanted me,” I reveal carefully. “When I said no, he… tried to force himself on me.” Negan’s thigh tenses against mine as he loops the hair tie around the end of my braid and then turns me so that I’m facing him. I shiver and pull my legs to my chest, resting my chin against my knees. He cleans my face gently with the cloth, tugging my lip down so he can see the wound that made me spit out blood earlier. “Just a bit lip,” I assure him. “I think my insides are all right.”

“Okay,” he agrees. Then he pauses. “Please tell me that prick Bradley is dead.” I smile at him, reaching out to touch his face.

“He was the first living person I killed,” I confess. “Samantha had my knife at the time, and I’ve never carried a gun. He had my face pressed against his neck to muffle me. When he wouldn’t give up, even after I fought and bit him, I ripped out his throat with my teeth.”

Negan blinks. “Fuck, Robin. You weren’t kidding when you said you were a fighter. Not many people would have the stomach for that.”

“I want to survive,” I admit. “Sometimes I don’t know why, but giving up on everything isn’t something I think I could ever do. Not that I don’t feel guilty about some of the things I’ve done,” I add. “But I guess, if I’m being entirely honest, what I’m saying is that if it comes down to me or them… I’ll choose me.” Negan stands, bending down to kiss my forehead. His lips are soft and warm, and I’m suddenly struck by the juxtaposition of his personality. He’s gentle and brutal at the same time. It seems contradictory, but I imagine the combination serves him quite well.

“Good,” he answers. “I’m glad to hear that.” He straightens up, opening a cabinet and taking out another bottle of water and a protein bar. “I want you to eat half of this,” he says, handing me the bar. “Slowly. Don’t make yourself sick.”

“Right,” I acknowledge, unwrapping it carefully. I start to nibble on it as he grabs a bottle of aspirin and some clothes from a drawer. He tilts a few of the tablets into his palm and holds them out to me with the water.

“Take these, and drink about half of that,” he instructs. “Slowly,” he repeats; I nod obediently. He looks at me quizzically for a moment and I smile.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just used to it taking a little more coercion to make people listen to me,” he finally says, leaning against the counter. I laugh.

“Why would I argue with you when I know you’re right?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Besides, it’s nice to be taken care of,” I admit. “I’ve always been the responsible one. It wears on you after a while. Just because I can be a leader doesn’t necessarily mean I want to be all the time. It’d be nice to at least share the burden with someone every once in a while.” I swallow the aspirin and drink a little of the water, then continue to nibble on the protein bar.

Negan sets the clothes he’s holding on the bed beside me. “You can wear these until we get to The Sanctuary. You should be able to find some things that fit you there.” I set the water and food aside, standing up and unfolding the clothes. There’s a pair of black boxer briefs and a soft gray long-sleeved shirt. The briefs are a little snug, but they’ll do the trick for now. The shirt is tight across my chest, but otherwise it’s too large, and I sink into it happily. I sit back down on the edge of the bed to finish eating and drinking and glance at Negan.

“What about you?” I ask, gesturing to his clothes. He looks down at himself, finally noticing the blood speckled across the fabric covering his stomach and thighs.

He grunts. “That’s not that unusual when I have to beat the shit out of someone for fucking misbehaving,” he notes. I’ve finished half of the bottle of water and half of the protein bar, so I set them aside and stand, coming over to him. He stares at me curiously.

“Are you hurt?” I brush my fingers gently over his shirt. “You were…” I pause, licking my lips as my cheeks flush, “… fierce… with that man,” I finish, my voice barely audible.

For a minute, he just stares. “You’re worried about me?” he finally wonders curiously.

“Of course I am,” I reply, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Doesn’t anyone ever worry about you, Negan?” My heart speeds up as I say his name.

“Not the way you mean it,” he answers eventually, lifting his hand to cup my cheek. I shiver, partly because of his touch and partly because I’m still cold. He kisses my forehead again. “Get under the covers, Robin,” he urges me. “I’ll join you in a minute, if that’s all right. You’ll be warmer that way.”

“I’d like that.” I still feel fragile; more comfort would be nice.

I slip between the sheets of the bed, watching Negan strip off his shirt and gray pants. He’s well-muscled, but not overly so; there’s just a tiny bit of softness to his belly that I think is cute. Dark curls of hair cover his entire torso; a particularly dense trail leads down his stomach into his gray boxer briefs. His legs are long, slim, and very shapely. He’s incredibly attractive, but I don’t say anything about it. It doesn’t seem appropriate, considering everything that’s happened tonight, and he’s shown the same courtesy to me.

He gets into the bed beside me, putting an arm around my shoulders and letting me rest my head on his chest. I sigh and snuggle into him, curling my hand around his neck and resting the other over his heart. He pulls the blankets up around us, making sure that everything but my head is covered. I’m exhausted, but it’s been so long since I’ve been able to sleep without worrying that I can’t relax entirely. Negan’s long fingers stroke my skin and he turns his head, resting his lips against my hairline, his free hand resting over mine on his chest. I run my fingers idly over the bandage wrapped around his wrist.

“It’s so I don’t hurt myself when I swing Lucille,” he answers without my having to ask. “What happened after you killed Bradley?”

Oh, right. I never finished the story.

“Samantha attacked me. I tried to tell her what happened, but she wouldn’t listen.” I guide his fingers to a thin scar on my bicep; it’s hard to see at the moment because of my bruises. “She got me with my knife, but I headbutted her, got it back, and stabbed her in the neck.” Negan runs the pads of his fingers gently over my scar, waiting for me to continue.

“I was alone for about three days before I ran into another group,” I say after doing the calculations in my head. “Andrew, Steven, Melissa, and Jane. I was much more on my guard by then; I told them what had happened, and warned them that I would kill them if they tried anything. I didn’t really want to,” I add. “But I would have.” I pause. “Eventually, I did kill some of them.” I feel Negan frown, but he doesn’t say anything.

“It took us almost two weeks to get to Forestville. Jane died on the way. Killed by the dead. Forestville was abandoned by that point, so we decided to hunker down and wait for all of this to end. We scavenged supplies and fortified one of the larger houses; things were good for a while.” I sigh, rubbing my cheek against his chest hair. “But weeks passed, supplies started to run low, and it became clear that nobody was coming for us. It was harder for some of them to accept than others. Andrew and I went to search another town, Morningside, but it was overrun. We got pinned down. I had a plan for us to escape; it would have worked, but he refused to listen to me. He died.”

I take a deep, shaky breath, fighting back tears. I’ve never told anyone all of this before, and I hadn’t realized how much it’s been weighing on me. Negan holds me tighter, kissing my forehead soothingly. “I made it back. I didn’t have much to show for it, and Steven and Melissa blamed me for Andrew’s death. But I tried to save him, Negan. I really did.” 

“I know you did, sweetheart,” he assures me quietly.

“I got angry at them and told them that if they wanted to survive, they’d listen to me. I was just so tired of trying to make everyone happy. It’s impossible. In a world like this, you need a leader. You need rules. And no one else was stepping up. So I did. Who could I trust besides myself?” He nods, his lips still touching my skin.

“We scavenged and hunted as much as we could, but it wasn’t enough. I was thinking of moving us when more people showed up. Michael, Christian, and Tom. They had a lot of supplies with them, so I let them stay. I brought up moving, but no one else wanted to take the risk. They still thought we might be rescued, even though I’d given up on rescue by then. Since we had supplies that would last a while, I decided to take more time to see if we could map the area. Kind of what it sounds like you’re doing with The Sanctuary. But, of course, as the days passed and no one came for us and supplies dwindled again, they took it out on me.”

Negan rubs his nose against my forehead. His beard brushes my skin; it’s so soft. “I caught Christian stealing supplies. The others argued with me about how to punish him, and he decided to try to kill me. I put my knife in his eye and told everyone else that if they wanted to stay, they would listen to me; otherwise, they could take a hike. That lasted a little over a month. I just didn’t have enough stability to keep everyone satisfied enough for a rule like that to work. You need a good base, lots of resources, and enough people to keep it all going, and we weren’t even close to that.”

“You’re smart,” Negan observes quietly; I feel him smile against my forehead and I blush a little.

“Thank you. It didn’t do me a whole lot of good.”

“I think you’re wrong about that,” he counters. “What did you do?”

I laugh bitterly. “I didn’t do anything. They did. Our supplies were critically low. They grabbed me while I was asleep and tied me up. If they were smart, they would have killed me right away, but they tied me up and argued. They all wanted me gone, but none of them wanted to have to be the one to do it. I escaped while they fought, and I just had to run. I didn’t have a weapon, or supplies; I just had the clothes on my back. I don’t know if they tried to find me, but I kept moving just in case.” I stop, thinking back. “That was three days ago. I was trying to head to Westphalia, but I stayed off the roads. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t find any food. I was starting to think that it was almost over. And then… they found me.”

Negan wraps his other arm around me, cradling my head in one of his large hands. “And then you found me,” I finish quietly. “Thank you, Negan.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’ll be safe now. I promise. The Sanctuary works exactly like you said. We have resources and people, and there are rules. My rules. And if you want to stay, you follow my rules. No fucking exceptions. Sound good?”

I sigh, resting my head against him. My eyes are finally closing, and I lean heavily into his embrace. “That sounds perfect,” I whisper, sinking as far as I can into his warmth.

“Sleep now, Robin. I’ll be right here.”

I nod drowsily. For the first time since all of this started, I feel safe, and I finally manage to drift off to sleep.


End file.
